


Chain Reactions

by FoxxiMcLeod



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Stripper Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-13 09:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20580212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxxiMcLeod/pseuds/FoxxiMcLeod
Summary: Loki died on the fields of Svartalfheim, or that’s what Thor seemed to believe. Unfortunately Loki isn’t entirely sure what happened either.





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m not really sure what I’m doing with this. I have a vague idea, but it’s entirely possible this may end up going no where. It’s more an exercise to get my writing shoes on and stop being afraid that any idea I have has to be “perfect” no one starts at perfect...
> 
> Update: so this story is running wild in my mind. I may have _started_ with nothing more substantial than “what if Loki ended up on earth at the end of TDW” but this now has some pretty developed plot in my mind. Buckle in for the long haul!

Lazy mornings waking slowly had always been so pleasant, the calm early morning was Loki’s favored time of day. Before all the obscenely loud sounds of weapon training and too much mead had a chance to drown out all thought. The cheerful chatter of birds nearby was much louder than expected, and Loki wondered if he had left his balcony open by mistake. A soft breeze of cool air played with his hair and tickled his nose, bringing sweet crisp scents filled with the promise of colder days to come. 

Wait... that’s not right? He didn’t have a balcony any longer, and why was the ground underneath him hard and itchy? He cracked an eye open to find early morning light softly illuminating a blurry bronze figure, and slowly rubbed his eyes. He sat up and blinked until his vision cleared and the figure in front of him came into focus. He stared up in disbelief as his own visage stared back from above; his hands bound in chain, the lower half of his face covered with the muzzle and his gaze lowered in defeat. A glance at the base showed a plaque underneath, and Loki pulled himself upright and cautiously approached to look closer.

_In memoriam of those who lost their lives. We will never bow._

Looking around he saw he was on a well tended path, surrounded by trees and shrubs that were obviously pruned frequently. Loki scoffed. Midgard then. But how had he ended up here? The last thing he could recall was laying on the dry and barren wastes of Svartalfheim after being stabbed and pretending it was lethal…Why was he in a park on Midgard instead of Asgard? Thor was supposed to take his ‘corpse’ back to Asgard and tell the tale of his redemption and honorable death. He was supposed to be given his send off, and fade away from the minds of all involved; slipping quietly into obscurity. News of his death would spread and Thanos would have no reason to seek him further. 

It really shouldn’t surprise him that Thor would muck up even that simplest and most basic of tasks. Ah well, there was nothing he could do about that particular failure at this point. He reached down and pressed against his ribs, hissing softly as the tender flesh protested. He could tell the wound had closed, but it wasn’t finished healing completely yet; it couldn’t have been more than a few days. But if that was true his presence here made even less sense. The bifrost still isn’t repaired, and while Loki knows of several old and forgotten paths to reach Midgard, none of them originate in Svartalfheim - and none of them would bring him to this particular spot. 

The air around him thrums with the residual energy of the tesseract, and he realizes with disgust that this must be the location from which Thor took him from this realm back to Asgard for his mock ‘trial’. He wonders idly if his so called brother actually explained to his comrades that the ideals of justice they hold so highly don’t exist in the golden realm. Then again he’s not so certain they would care as much as they pretend to. 

The rhythmic pounding of feet approaching brought Loki’s attention back to his immediate surroundings. Right, a midgardian park. One which had a statue of his likeness he was currently standing beside. Time to make himself less…conspicuous. He reached inward and pulled his seidr up to settle gently over him, wrapping him in a cool familiar comfort, like an old worn favorite blanket. As it settled his features shifted, his dark hair lightened to a warm brown and emerald eyes became a deep ocean blue. His leathers faded into loose fitting running attire just as the incoming person became visible from around the bend. 

The norns must be playing some sort of joke on him, for the figure rapidly heading toward him was none other than the good captain Steve Rogers. Even with an illusion resting over him, the thought of being so close to one of the so called Avengers makes him uneasy, and he shifts to pretend inspection of the statue. The soft thuds of Steve’s arrival slow as they grow closer though, and Loki startles when the man speaks,

“Did you lose someone that day?” Steve settles uncomfortably close, and Loki stares at him as the other man looks up at the statue with an expression he can’t quite place, regret perhaps?

“What— no.”

_“Yes.” _His mind whispers.

“Oh. Not many people come this way. Most don’t want to see him - they want to try to move on.”

“But not you?” Loki couldn’t help the rising rage he felt, and had to turn his attention back to the bronze monument to disguise the target of his ire. “You take pride in the part you played I assume? Enjoy coming and seeing this reminder?” He can’t quite keep the bitterness from leaking through his words, and is thankful when the other seems to misinterpret his emotions.

“No, I don’t really want to be a hero. I’d rather not be needed at all, but I won’t stand by and do nothing if I can help,” he turned and looked at Loki with a soft sad smile, “I just come this way because it’s usually deserted, except sometimes for people who need a friendly face.”

The genuine kindness that radiates off the captain makes Loki’s chest tighten. When was the last time anyone looked at him without a trace of hostility? It makes him want to drop his glamour, but he knows he’d get no such expression if the man knew to whom he was actually talking to. Suddenly he can’t stand the other mans eyes on him and he turns away abruptly, “Well I’d rather be alone myself. Has it occurred to you others may choose this path for that very reason themselves?”

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll be on my way then, have a good day.” He turns and takes off on his jog again, leaving Loki feeling strangely as if he just lost something. He sighs and turns to wander in the opposite direction, tucking his hands in his pockets as he strolls the paths both before his feet and down his tangled memories.


	2. Pride and pepperoni

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no beta. All errors are belong to me.

Trying to navigate the city turned out to be_ immensely_ frustrating. He’d left the park behind some hours ago, and had no clue where he was. Everything looked the same, drab grey walls filled with glass reaching endlessly up into the sky, leaving only a sliver of blue far above. To make matters worse, it was increasingly difficult to avoid casual contact with other people. He’d already received a few odd looks when strangers brushed against him and couldn’t reconcile what they felt with what their eyes were telling them. 

If he was being honest - something he wasn’t known much for, even with himself; the real frustration came from not knowing where _to_ go. He was perfectly capable of reading and following the directions marked on the many signs he’d seen, but with no destination in mind they were as useless as a three legged horse. If he could just _remember_ how he’d gotten here... well then he undoubtedly wouldn’t be here at all. He couldn’t think of a single reason he would have chosen to come back to Midgard. 

He passes by a stairwell leading down under the city just as a mass of people surge up, some taking the stairs two at a time in their haste. Several nearly collide with him, hurrying along as if they didn’t even realize he was there; and he stares after the crowd as they disperse in every conceivable direction. Loki frowns and decides he may as well find somewhere he can think without the risk of drawing undue attention. Or getting trampled for that matter.

He glances around and locates what appears to be a small eatery on the other side of the street. The sign above the door boasts “The best pizza in New York!” - whatever ‘pizza’ is. The more pertinent aspect is that it’s currently empty aside from the obvious staff. He makes his way across the road, calmly navigating between the moving transports as they scream at him. 

A tiny bell jingles above the door as he walks inside. There are several tables, covered in red and white checkered linens and empty other than a few jars of some white powder and red flakes. The scent of fire, intermingled with something sharp and earthen teases his nose. It’s far from unpleasant; and his mouth waters. He is actually rather hungry now that he thinks about it.

“Mornin’ sir! Take a seat anywhere you like, I’ll be with you in a jiffy!” A peppy maiden smiles cheerfully at him and waves him inside. He smiles back and chooses a table with his back to the wall, sliding into the chair with a wince as the motion pulls his healing wound. Outside the window the city continues to bustle along in controlled chaos; vehicles stopping and starting in short jerky motions, people flowing along like a river made of color, and birds flutter in and out of crevices overlooked and ignored.

The waitress winks at him as she places cutlery and a menu in front of him, “Good morning! I’m Tiffany, can I get you something to drink cutie?” 

“Wine will be fine,” he glances over the options listed without even sparing her a glance. What in the Norns is a pepperoni? Meat lovers? No thank you, he’s had quite enough meat laden meals. He hands the menu back absently as he stares back out the window, “and just bring me whatever you have that doesn’t have meat.”

“Ummm, so a veggie pizza then? And what kind of wine did you want sir?” She takes the menu back, and holds it up to point at a list Loki assumes are different wines, “Oh! And I’m going to need to see your ID.”

“Pardon?”

“Your ID? For the drink? It’s state law, I have to check,” she gives him an apologetic look.

“Don’t be trite girl, off with you now,” he waves dismissively at her over his shoulder. She gapes at him for a moment, before turning with a huff and marching off. He hears muffled voices drift from the back, but they are impossible to make out over the din that accompanies kitchens no matter what realm they reside on; and he’s not particularly interested in whatever banter they’re engaged in regardless.

He lets his gaze wander back over the various interactions taking place outside. A performer has set up on the corner, and has begun basic slight of hand tricks. Children watch, enthralled as the seemingly unbelievable unfolds before their eyes; the adults with them smiling in indulgence and dropping tokens into a hat by the charlatans feet. So these mortals enjoy tricks do they? He feels the corners of his mouth pulling into a sharp grin. Perhaps Midgard is _exactly_ where he needs to be. 

He left Thor thinking him dead after all, even if he didn’t return Loki’s body to Asgard, he will surely have told the All Father of his demise. And anyone who doubts Thor’s tale isn’t going to look here of all places. Hiding among the mortals is the last place anyone would expect him to be after the utter humiliation he was served when last on this realm after all. Yes, this will do just fine. He can rest - and plan - from here undisturbed. 

The waitress returns and sets a glass filled with a deep red down with a bit more force than is strictly necessary. Her smile is replaced with a scowl and her hands come to rest on her hips, “anything else _your highness_?”

For a brief moment Loki panics, eyes darting around half expecting to see einherjar - or worse - step out of the shadows. Then his brain catches up and identifies the sarcasm in the girls voice. Oh. She must be offended by being treated as the servant she is. Too bad for her then.

“Just my meal. I would have expected it delivered by now. No wonder your establishment is rather... deserted.” He lifts the wine glass, taking a dainty sip, and his eyes drift closed as he hums appreciatively. It’s not going to get him even slightly intoxicated; but it has a rich flavor that lingers on his tongue.

When he opens his eyes, she’s still standing there - her mouth hanging open and her brow pinched in disbelief, “do close your mouth dear, it’s unbecoming to gape like a fish. And don’t you have something you should be doing?” He sips at his wine, hiding his amused smile behind the glass.

“You are something else,” she murmurs as she stalks off back to do... whatever it is she does. He doesn’t really care.

His food arrives soon after. The appearance makes him pause and wonder if he’s the target of some ill conceived joke though. It’s round and flat, with a mess of various other things just strewn on top of what looks like a puddle of oil. In short it looks disgusting. The smell however is _divine_. If this is a joke, the best solution he decides is to ignore it; and he’s ravenous besides. So he takes up the fork and knife and tries it.

_Oh Norns, this is Valhalla. If this is intended as a joke, they failed miserably._

The pizza disappears all too soon, and is surprisingly filling for what seemed to be very little substance. The waitress returns shortly after his last bite and Loki can’t help but smile.

“Poor service aside, this meal was exquisite. Thank you.” He stands to leave and the girl all but shoves a slip of paper at him, he takes it automatically and frowns down at it, “what’s this?”

“Your _bill_, duh.” She crosses her arms and stares up at him.

It was at this moment that two thoughts struck him simultaneously with the force of a rampaging bilgesnipe. 

The first was that Midgard being the secluded backwater that it is, wouldn’t have the faintest clue what to do with Asgardian coinage. The second was that he didn’t have any of said coinage to barter with even if they could be convinced to accept it. He was so used to simply having whatever charge he’d incurred sent along to the royal treasury, that he hadn’t stopped to consider how he was going to _pay_ for his meal. Or anything else while staying on this realm for that matter.

He chuckles softly and gives her a nervous smile, “I’m afraid I left my funds at home...”

“Of-fucking-course you did,” she moves to push him back into his chair, and he sits quickly to avoid her touch. The last thing he needs is her feeling through his illusion...

“Jimmy, call the cops, this asshole doesn’t think he has to pay.”


	3. Settling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no beta, all errors are belong to me. Tags and rating updated.

Loki hadn’t gained the moniker silvertongue by accident. It didn’t take him much effort to convince Jimmy that he was contrite and thoroughly embarrassed to be without payment. Sweet honeyed lies flowed with practiced ease. Of _course_ he would return as promptly as possible, he certainly would give good recommendations to his friends and colleagues, and he would be _delighted_ to have them cater his next meeting - this was the best pizza he’s ever had!

It was almost too easy to flatter and cajole the man into letting him leave. The girl wasn’t fooled, but her superior hushed her objections, and told her to go busy herself elsewhere. Loki gave her a sharp smile and a wink as she stormed off into the kitchen. Ah, it was always so much more satisfying when someone - especially someone who could do nothing about it - knew he’d played them. 

He left with a smile, and a goal in mind. He needed to learn more about this realm if he was going to remain here. He couldn’t afford to draw attention to himself, which meant learning the culture. Learning how to blend. How to _be_ Midgardian. Illusions; like lies are most effective if they are based on truth. People want to believe their eyes, particularly when they tell them something they _already_ believe.

He spent the day drifting from place to place watching and analyzing how mortals interacted with each other and the world around them. Curiously their currency seemed to take on many forms. Paper, coin, plastic cards. The latter sometimes required another plastic card as well.... The girl had asked for an ID. He remembered Barton as well as others around him having cards that they used to verify themselves. That must be a common thing here, and with so many people to keep track of he supposed it made sense. 

As the sun began to set he was pleased with what he had learned. He managed to lift a small folded leather envelope from a man at a bar earlier, and was happy to find it contained some of the paper currency as well as a card with a picture and information- what must be the essential ID. He had slipped into the bathroom - the only place that seemed to be free of the many eyes both living and artificial - and shifted his appearance again. 

It was too risky to assume an appearance that was vastly different from his physical form, and so he made cosmetic changes only. His hair remained the same length, curling softly just past his shoulders; but became a soft red. His face gained a spattering of freckles and his eyes stayed green, but became a pale sage. 

He took the ID from the wallet he’d swiped and brushed it with a touch of seidr, making the image match his own. He frowned at the name displayed, Fredrick Hollack; then decided to change that too. Better not to use another’s name, it could cause problems. But what then should he call himself? Anything that alluded to who he was would be unwise. With little else to draw from he settled on an old norse name he remembered. He could always blame his parents for being eccentric if anyone questioned it. The name on the card shifted and settled to read Korey Hall.

Armed with an ID, a new identity and a modicum of understanding he set out to go meld into society.

~*~*~*~

It turned out that an ID alone was not enough to obtain a job. It had been two weeks and every place he had inquired at had wanted a social security number and Loki had no leads on how to acquire one. He had snatched several other wallets, but whatever it was it did not appear to be something people carried on their person. And without a job, no one had been willing to give him a place to live. It had not been a pleasant two weeks.

After being turned away from dozens upon dozens of jobs; he had found himself in a less affluent part of the city, in front a small club named The Backdoor. It had a sign on the door that claimed it wanted experienced performers, and so he went inside. It was gaudy, and more than a little run down, but surprisingly tidy and clean. The center of the room was empty except for a pole reaching into the ceiling, with neon strobe lights flickering over it in rhythm with the music vibrating through the air. Scattered around were worn plush velvet couches with small tables nearby. Over on the side of the room was a small bar with a middle aged man behind it that introduced himself as Arnold, the owner of the club.

Arnold had allowed Loki to audition without asking questions. Loki was appalled at what he was asked to do, but his options had been limited. And the job offered cash, to be paid weekly. Loki swallowed his pride. He’d done far worse he reminded himself, and it wasn’t actually much different than knife fighting. If you overlooked the loss of clothing anyway. 

~*~*~*~

His life from there began to settle into something resembling normalcy. After another couple of weeks of wages and tips he had enough to gain a small room to stay in that was willing to just take his cash and look the other way. It left him with very little for anything else, but that didn’t bother Loki. He had a place out of the elements to sleep, food; and time to study and learn.

He worked six nights out of the week, and spent his day off at a local library. He was becoming familiar with the inner workings of mortal society thanks to something referred to as the internet. It contained vast repositories of information only a few keystrokes away, and Loki was enraptured. 

It was here he learned what exactly a social security number was. And it was not something he was going to be able to just steal. Well he could, but it could lead people to looking far closer at him than he wanted. It meant that his job options were going to stay rather shady. Only those willing to defy the laws set by their peers would even consider hiring him. He was lucky to have found such an opportunity at all under the circumstances. 

And much to his surprise, he _liked _his job. It was good exercise that kept him fit. But what he really enjoyed was drawing in and captivating his audience. While he danced he held the undivided attention of every other person in the room. For the first time in his life, he was the focus of awe and envy. He was desired and _appreciated_. He wasn’t scorned or called argr for his fluid movements. It was _refreshing_.

Loki was sitting at the bar sipping a cherry coke through a straw, waiting for Fernando to finish his set. Behind him he could hear whistles and cheers as the show reached its climax. Then Fernando was moving through the crowd, collecting his last tips. He’s pretty sure he could hear people already calling his name, and smiled as he listened. He had to choose yet another name as a stage name, Arnold seemed to think Korey wasn’t enticing enough. After much debate - Loki had refused anything related to hammers - they had agreed upon Puck.

He hears the door swing open, and several people enter, bantering between them.

“Really Tony, this place is a dump. This is where you wanted to bring Nat for her birthday?”

“Is that guy….naked?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t be legal. He’s _almost_ naked though! And yeah, I’ve heard good things about the new dancer this place hired. Supposed to be an amazing show. Trust me, even you’ll have to enjoy this spangles, it’s art!”

Loki felt his heart stop. He recognized those voices. He forced himself to take a breath, they weren’t here for him - or well - they _were_, but not in a hostile manner. He glanced over his shoulder to see the whole group sans his bro— Thor and the beast. The captain looks uncomfortable, pointedly staring at a spot on the floor; as if it contained all the answers to the universe. Stark has sprawled out as if he owns the place, not surprising in the slightest. The spider and Barton are both looking around appraising the layout and exits, although their eyes linger on the performers longer than they’d admit he’s sure.

Arnold shoved his elbow, “Hey, stop ogling the celebrities and get your ass out there and dance for them!”

“Calm yourself, I’m observing my rather... sizable mark.” He rolls his eyes, and then his shoulders as he stands. As he makes his way to the center of the room he is uncertain how he feels. He’s glad Thor won’t be here to witness this, even if the oaf would never know who he is. But while putting himself on display for strangers is easy enough, knowing the avengers are here makes him feel... dirty somehow. As if this is just another form of humiliation they are subjecting him to. 

_No. I’m here by my own choice, and they don’t even know. I am in control, not them._

With the first beat of the music he shuts his brain off and just feels. He sways with the music and the room grows silent, nothing but the pounding rhythm and his own soft breath reaches his ears. And then he begins moving. Slow and sinuous, he wraps himself around the pole flowing like silk from one side of the room to another.

He dances like it’s all he’s ever known, like there’s nothing else that matters but the push and pull of the notes on his body. As if he is the embodiment of sound made flesh. Bits of clothing lay discarded around him, un-needed. Music doesn’t need clothes. 

People are waving money in the air, wanting to draw the fae like creature closer to them; wanting the chance to touch - if only for a moment - the living melody before them. He makes his way through them in constant fluid grace, and they tuck bills into the only remaining strip of cloth on him. Little scraps of paper that vanish the moment no one is looking, leaving him always perfect and untouched. 

He drifts back to the center for the finale, and  
as the last note hovers and then fades he’s sprawled out on the floor on his knees; body thrown back and arms stretched out above his head, fingers brushing polished shoes. Stark leans over to place his obscene tip into Loki’s thong, but Loki leans up and takes it with his teeth.

“Damn....,” the whispered word Stark breathes breaks the spell and the room erupts into applause. 

Loki returns to his feet with the same erotic grace, and gives a slight bow, grinning. He’s panting only a little, and high on the energy that’s filled the room from his performance. He bows once more; then sweeps his discarded clothing up in one swift movement and heads to the bar where Arnold is holding a robe for him. 

“You outdid yourself tonight, fuck. I’ve never seen anyone dance like that,” the man has refilled his cup with water and Loki gratefully gulps it down in one go as he slips the robe on and sits.

As he holds the cup out for more water he feels someone settle at his side. It’s not uncommon for the braver patrons to want to chat with him afterwards. He’s come to accept it as part of the job, this dinky little place is only this room and the back office where Arnold does his bookkeeping. Besides, it’s bad for business to offend the people who want to idolize him.

He turns his head, a flirtatious comment on the tip of his tongue when he sees Stark grinning at him, and he has to force himself to keep his friendly smile.

“Hey, you look familiar.... have I fucked you before? No, wait - I’d remember fucking someone that moves the way you do,” the man pauses and rubs the back of his neck, “Let me start over. Come home with me?” His breath is laced with spirits, and his speech is slightly slurred.

_Oh you fucked me Anthony Stark, and it won’t happen again in any form._

“Tony!! This is supposed to be Nat’s birthday gift!” Barton catches up and gives Stark a half-hearted smack on the back of his head.

“Ow! Right, right.... I’ll share!”

“It’s fine, he can have him. I don’t want anything Tony’s touched. Too much grease.” Her voice is level, but the corner of her mouth is turned up the tiniest tick.

“No.”

Three sets of eyes turn to Loki as he slides off the stool, reaching behind the bar to grab his street clothes. He’s done for the night. He’d normally stay for a while. Chat. Flirt. Gain a few more tips from patrons that may have been too shy or distracted to offer while he danced. But he needed to get away from here before he did something he might regret. Murdering Tony Stark and his comrades is not the way to lay low. 

“Wait.... no, we haven’t fucked? Or no, you don’t want to share, because I’m fine with that. More than fine. Where are you going?” He stumbles off the stool, and the captain who looks a bit ill and refuses to even look in Loki’s direction, catches him.

“I’m going home. And before you ask - yes, without you. Good night, I hope you enjoyed the show.” He turns and heads for the back exit.

“Come on Tony, you should get home too. Think of how Pepper will react if you make a scene in a gay strip club that shows up in the morning paper..,” the captain steers a reluctant Stark out of the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear from you. What do you like, what doesn’t make sense and why? Help me improve??


End file.
